


Another Woman

by Winxhelina



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Implied Relationships, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 18:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2358110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winxhelina/pseuds/Winxhelina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While John & Mary are away on their honeymoon Sherlock spends time at their place (supposedly) housekeeping. John's sister comes over for her own obvious reasons. They have something short of a chat about… feelings and stuff. Something almost like a chat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Woman

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place between The Sign of Three and His Last Vow. Somehow.

Sherlock lowered the bow on his violin for a moment as he heard the door open as she stepped inside, but made no other indication he had noticed the woman enter. She had been tumbling with the keys, but if she was drunk it certainly didn’t show just yet. She walked over to the cupboards in the kitchen where John always had some alcohol stored, for quests, for special occasions.

“Stealing from your own brother. A bad break up perhaps?”

When she spoke Sherlock could hear the same sort of admiration in her voice as he had so often heard in John’s. Before so often and now, somehow, less and less. But he supposed that was the fault of his own actions and he regretted none of those. 

"And we haven’t even met. You are as amazing as he says,” she paused, thought about it and added:”You won’t tell,” it wasn’t a threat. She sounded like she knew – no not even that – she sounded like for whatever reason she _trusted_ Sherlock not to say anything and Sherlock knew she was right too. He wouldn’t say anything. John wouldn’t notice the lost bottle, as long as she only took one and it would cause him needless stress. John would be happy returning from his sex holiday with Mary. Happy and relaxed and Sherlock would have ruined that by accident sooner or later somehow so there was no point in doing it on purpose. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked. Much to Sherlock’s surprise she didn’t just take the bottle and leave. Was she looking for a glass? She was going to drink it _here? Why?_ The Watsons could be a mystery. 

“Housekeeping,” he said. 

“Like watering the plants?” she asked with a bemused tone in voice and Sherlock realized he had meant to do that and had forgot. She had noticed. Interesting. Sherlock was going to turn around to get a good look at her, to deduce and find what he could see apart from what he had long known based on John’s mobile phone, but she spoke again and Sherlock kept looking outside down the street for a moment. 

“Tell you what, I’ll help you with the plants, if you keep my secret,” Sherlock frowned hadn’t they already established he wouldn’t say anything? So what she was basically saying was that she will just do Sherlock a kindness for no apparent reason. This time he really turned to look at her. She stood there with two glasses and offered one to Sherlock. He stared at her for a moment, shocked how well put together she looked for an alcoholic. Sure, the signs were obvious to him, but he thought they might not be to anyone else. Her hair was long, straight – no straightened. She had done this in the morning. To go out on a date with her girlfriend who had then left her. She had gone to a beauty salon, an expensive one and gotten her hair cut, neat fresh bangs framed her features. This date had meant a lot to her otherwise she wouldn’t have gone to a fancy place with her current income. She was a secretary, but was about to lose that job, the reasons for that obviously connected to her drinking habits. So the date had meant a lot or she had tried to prove she deserved a second chance. Didn’t go as planned. She had been left. Sherlock could also see signs of a rough childhood, unloved she had went. At least from the beginning of her teenage years, possibly had to do with her choice of partner. Sherlock’s eyes softened. He felt sorry for her, possibly, because she looked so much like John, her hair, although it now had some stripes in them was originally the same colour as John’s. Her lips were the thin shape of her brother’s. No. Of both of their parents obviously. Sherlock shook his head clear of these thoughts before he had time to think that she was beautiful. Because Sherlock rarely thought anyone was beautiful, beauty is a relative concept anyways. 

“What?” she asked, having caught him staring, but not minding, almost looking eager for Sherlock’s deductions. 

No deductions came forth however, Sherlock didn’t voice any. He shook his head, put his violin away and took the offer for a drink.

They sat down together facing each other and despite the different scenery Sherlock felt strangely pained by the scene, reminding him of the times John still lived with him and they had sat like this all the time. 

“Why weren’t you at your brother’s wedding?” he asked:”John would have liked that and unlike me you didn’t really have to stay sober.” “No one said you had to stay sober,” she pointed out:”It didn’t sound like you wanted to be there either, leaving after the first song.” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. She knew? John had told her? Why? He had not mentioned anything about it to Sherlock. He had assumed he simply hadn’t noticed. 

“Didn’t approve of the bar choice then, you?” Sherlock provoked.

“Perhaps I didn’t approve of the bride?” she put forth, taking a sip of her drink.

“You don’t like Mary?” Sherlock asked surprised. She seemed likable enough. Even Sherlock sort of liked her. 

She looked disappointed, like Sherlock wasn’t getting something:”I don’t think... she was the one my brother would have been happiest with.”

Sherlock still didn’t get it:”You had a better option in mind?”

“Yes.” 

“Who?” Sherlock asked, genuinely curious. He couldn’t think of anyone John could be more happy with. He loved Mary. Harriet didn’t reply, much to Sherlock’s disappointment. Instead she started gathering the white dust Sherlock had left on the table:”May I?”  
Sherlock shrugged. She may, although she was getting herself quite a mix. Harriet seemed unfazed in the face of that sort of danger. Perhaps John would have become an addict too hadn’t he found his ways to get his kicks. 

Quite possibly so yes. 

They sat in silence for a long while. She did as promised and started watering the plants soon. 

“Who?” Sherlock asked again, feeling a bit like an owl. 

“He who loves him most.”

Sherlock sighed in frustration:”He’s not interested in men.”

She seemed equally frustrated:”I’m not saying that.”  
Very few woman had ever left Sherlock feeling utterly stupid. In fact he couldn’t think of anyone other than Harriet Watson. 

“He might not be,” she said with a sad sigh. Sherlock knew that. It didn’t help. 

Sherlock stood and went back to the violin, frustrated and done with this conversation. The tune that he drew from his strings was sad and melancholic, longing, but beautiful to anyone’s ears that were to listen, when he paused for a longer moment Harriet spoke:”Why have you never told him?”

 

Sherlock suddenly knew what she meant. Maybe because his piece had carried the conversation about his feelings better than his words ever could and Harriet’s question seemed like a follow-up to his own little declaration. 

“Some things are better left unsaid.”

Harriet took a step closer so she stared into Sherlock’s eyes and he noticed that although their shade was slightly different they were still much like John’s:”Not these things,” somehow the smell of alcohol in her breath didn’t make her less attractive. Sherlock was surprised that he even thought of her as attractive at all. She might have felt the same, that or she was just that high. She kissed Sherlock on the lips, lightly, briefly. Sherlock had no way of knowing what on Earth that meant. He had no way of asking as Harriet took the rest of the whiskey with her and left without a single word. She was long gone by the time Sherlock had gathered himself enough to say anything. She never returned in the whole time Mary & John were away. Sherlock thought of finding her number from John’s phone, but knew he would have nothing to say to that woman if he did call.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I may have accidentally created a new pairing?  
> Comments are appreciated.


End file.
